


Fury

by redhandsredribbons



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, Canon Queer Character, Dom/sub Undertones, Early in Canon, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Jealousy, Love/Hate, M/M, Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vampires, Violence, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1805287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhandsredribbons/pseuds/redhandsredribbons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike forgot how much of a bloody <em>prat</em> Angelus could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fury

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: swearing, sexism, brief mentions of violence, death, and blood-drinking, unhealthy relationships, implicit ableism (Dru's character), sexual references.

The place was dark, dank, very bloody—bloody being the clever double-edged sword of a word, there—nice. At least they thought it’d be, after they kicked out the kid, the one who claimed to be as powerful as the fucking Master or what have you.

It was nice, him and Dru. Spike even had a plan. They'd kill the Slayer, throw a party, Dru'd play with her dollies and get all better, then they could have some real fun together. Outlive out the world, stir up some hell—metaphorical, literal, whatever they bloody well pleased—and have a fucking _ball_.

Then two became three.

Ah, well, more the merrier, then. Oh, yes, why not? Invite in _Spikey_ ’s old mentor, why not? Sure, he’d been tame for a while, but a roll in the hay with the Slayer fixed that right up.

Spike forgot how much of a bloody _prat_ Angelus could be.

Spike wheels himself around the room, aimless and muttering, and finally grabs a jar of blood Dru spoon-fed to him like a baby the first few days. He smashes it. He grabs his pack of smokes, finds _half_ of a cigarette lying inside the box, and throws that down, too.

Angelus—Angel, His Highness, Mighty Arsehole, whatever the hell he wants to be called now—is taunting him.

Sabotaging his belongings, including Dru, who seems far too happy to see her old sire again. 

Greeting Spike with a pounce, teeth bared, lips licked, a hard kiss against his forehead. Angel's tongue darting out.

Spike sure as hell hadn’t meant to close his eyes, or tilt his head back, or giggle like a maniac afterwards, but he had. He's man enough to admit it, and to admit this whole bloody arrangement is a mistake.

Spike's skin is burning.

Vampires do _not_ like burning.

He breaks an empty bottle next, and swears in a loud shout.

“Tsk tsk,” Angel says.

Spike wheels around to watch Angel stride casually across the gray floors. “Breaking things, now, are we?” His voice is a slow, cheery drawl, taking his time, not bloody caring.

Spike leans back in the wheelchair and tries to stay cool. “Bite me.”

Angel chuckles and shakes his head, sauntering closer. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He sighs. “Spikey, my boy. What are we gonna do with you? You call me ‘sire’, pretend it wasn't Drusilla who—”

“I love Dru," Spike retorts. "And that’s more than you can say, because you’ve never been in love. Oh wait. There was the Slayer that one time, wasn’t there? Until you lost your tragic soul inside her tight little—”

“Someone’s avoiding the topic,” Angel sing-songs.

Spike stares hard at his fist, clenching and unclenching it. Angel leans over, hands on the armrests of the wheelchair, face close enough to Spike’s that he’d feel his breath—if he had any. Angel’s face is smug.

“Fuck off,” Spike mumbles.

Angel just laughs.

The tap of shoes signals the arrival of Drusilla. Angel pulls away from Spike with a smirk, and greets her. He lifts the fresh business suit corpse out of her arms and arranges it on the table. Drusilla smiles lazily at Angel, who put his hands around her waist, and tugs her against him. She looks pleased.

“Are my boys being good? Or are they being bad? Mm?” Drusilla steps away from Angel, straddles Spike in the wheelchair, and walks two of her fingers up the tip of his nose to the bridge. Spike frowns, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, my little blonde puppy’s jealous,” Drusilla muses. “But jealous of Angel... or jealous of _me_?” She nuzzles Spike's nose with hers, a faraway, malicious smile on her lips.

“Go off and play, Dru,” Spike says carefully, through clenched teeth.

“I brought you a nice treat,” Dru says, unconcerned. "Miss Edith says it's time for your tummy to be warm. Do you think the stars will fall down if I tap my foot too hard? I like dancing, but I don't want to budge them." She slides off his lap, and drifts into a side room. Angel gives Spike another smug glance, then follows her.

After draining the man, Spike mutilates the hollow body beyond recollection. It makes him feel a little better.

Nearly.

Bugger this.

**Author's Note:**

> The original version of this fic was written for the "A is for amuck" prompt at the alphabetasoup challenge. Set mid-S2, and first written almost 10 years ago, because apparently I'm old. I decided to tidy up my writing and post it here.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave comments, questions, and/or critiques!


End file.
